Of Grain and Horse Similes
by The Girl with the Scar
Summary: Johnny Parker is just your average slightly sadistic career. Except she's never trained. She lives in District 9. And her biggest accomplishment is scoring 100% on every test. Fall in love with this unlovable little girl as she tackles the Hunger Games, brushing her hair, and trying to go the whole interview without using horse similes. PS:This rocks.
1. Chapter 1

I sighed. Whoa, super introduction!

I don't do that a lot these days. I mean, in a place where everyone wants to kill you, you don't really sit around and sigh. Sighing typically means that your expressing sadness, tiredness, relief, or a similar feeling. Or someone pulled a knife out of your calf. That's my reason.

"Thanks." I breathe, to the boy sitting across me, cleaning off the knife.

"No problem." He grunts. We sit in awkward silence. It really couldn't get anymore awkward. Me holding a cloth to my leg to staunch blood flow, and him probably having a vote in his head whether to kill me. I bet he's making a list of pros and cons. Weirdo. Let's back track.

I'm Johnny Parker. And I'm a contestant in the 59th annual Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up every day always goes the same way. I awake, I attempt to unravel myself from the blankets, fall down on the stone floor, cuss, eat, brush my teeth, make my bed, get dressed and fall again. Seriously, you will not believe how may times the teachers asked me if my mother beat me, that's how bad my legs look. My mother is never around, leaving me home alone good ¾ quarters of the time. It's so boring, especially because I'm an only child. Johnny Parker. Yep, that's me. I'm a girl. Pity is welcome. My dad wanted a boy, so I was a disappointment. But if anyone were to ever mistake me as a boy, I would bash their idiotic head in, nail their eyes to a wall, and they would watch me kill them. Sorry.

I guess I was always a little bit of an outcast in my district. Being sadistic is as rare as a two-headed horse where I live. District 9, the District of Grain and horse similes. Gotta love it! Anyways, that's a typical morning for me. And reaping day, of course, went the same way. Except when I remembered what day it was I laid on the ground for a few seconds longer thinking that there is always the possibility that this will be the last time I ever fall on this floor. I cuss loudly and run to the kitchen for breakfast. I hear my parents snoring and face palm. Even when they are home they don't make me breakfast. I decide to be the better person in this situation and make breakfast for three, making sure to swear extra loud when I burn my hand trying to get the dishes out of the cupboard conveniently stored beside the hotbox (the District 9 word for oven).

"You okay, son?" Says my moronic father.

"Yes, _daddy_!"

That's my nickname for my dad. It completely ruins his plan that by treating me like a boy, I will magically become one. But it sort of worked because I wouldn't be saying it if I didn't know that it pisses him off. He grunts and grabs the oatmeal I made.

"Your welcome!" I yell after him. He just grunts and leaves.

Well, screw him! You know what, I hope I get reaped so when I leave they'll realize how crappy they treated for the past sixteen years. I finish breakfast and change fast so I can meet Miss Freeman at the library. She's the librarian, and probably my best friend. Not that I have many others. I look at my watch and cuss, realizing that I have to be at the square in half an hour. I would be more precise, but my watch is forever stuck at 43rd second. So I go and find mother.

"Johnny, under no circumstances are you going to the Reaping looking like that.

I look down at my horrid orange dress and put my hands on my hips.

"You told me to where this." I spit, thoroughly annoyed.

"Not that, your hair."

I then look at the, you guessed it, the word the word of the day, horrid mane of auburn hair and prepare myself for a world of pain.

Twenty minutes later, the hair that has not been ripped out of my scalp is piled 'elegantly' on top of my head. Elegantly. I feel like a, um, nevermind. But I also blend in like a mare in a barn full of fillies in the dress.

"Thanks again, mother, I feel like a _princess_!" I say, definitely making my dad's blood boil. I bat my eyelashes in hope that he will explode. Crap.

"Okay sweetie, if you get called, you hold your head high and plaster a smile on your face, you hear me?" Says my mother. "You act like you're prize winning horse in the stable, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise." (I wasn't kidding about the similes). I receive a pat on the back from my dad, and smile (evilly) and wrap my arms around his waist.

"Bye daddy!" I say sweetly. It's sickening for him. I then skip off to the line.

"Name?" Says the Peacekeeper.

"Johnny Parker."

He lifts an eyebrow then pricks my finger, the screen in front of him bringing a smile to his face.

"Okay, _Johnny, _15 slips. Next!"

15 slips! Those morons, where not even poor, and they feel the need to take out tesserae? I swear, if I get out of this rich and famous, they are not invited to live with me. Or socialize with me. Fuming, I march to the sixteen year old section.

Onto the platform marches are _horrid_ escort Sissy Mulligan.

"Welcome to the 59th Annual Hunger Games!" She squeals. I roll my eyes and clench my fists. Citizens of the Capitol are like a crammed stable on cleaning day. Absolutely _horrid. (_**A/N: **fun games, every time the word of the day is used, do a jumping jack. The adult version is funner)

"We like to start this Reaping off with a video of the Dark Days!" I take this time to think up reasons why my parents would take tesserae. I don't eat that much. I never bother them (they're never there), I don't ask for money, and never once have I ever complained. Suddenly everyone is clapping and I smile. There's families with eight children, nine. They'll get reaped, not me. Right?

"Let's start off with the boys!" Says Sissy in her horrendous (fooled ya) accent.

"Miller Brown!"

A boy stands from the seventeen year old section, shivering like a fawn in the frost and looking like he's about to barf.

Wuss.

He walks up to the stage and mumbles hello, then stands beside the escort.

"And for the girls…"

I watch as her fingers fumble around in the bowl, taking the slip at the very bottom.

"Johnny Parker!"

_Wow, that's sure a weird name for a…_

The crowd snickers as I walk up to the stage, clenching my dress in my hands. Even the mind washed escort has trouble stifling a laugh.

I elbow a random kid who was laughing.

"Not so funny, huh?"

I join Miller on the stage and do what my mother told. O hold my head high, plaster a smile on my face, and follow her horse simile.

"And we present the Tributes for the 59th Annual Hunger Games, Miller Brown and Johnny Parker!"

And Miller decides now is the perfect time to throw up.


	3. Chapter 3

A outfit change and a few bottles of antiseptic later, me and Miller are being led to the Justice Building.

Of course, to me it was hilarious. His trajectory was spot on, the, um, _mess _landing directly on Sissy Mulligan, and splattering a little bit on the first row. Seriously, I laughed so hard I'm convinced I died, and I came back to life to laugh some more. All I can say is BEST REAPING EVER!

Anyways, I came back to the grim reality of the situation as we walked through the doors of the justice building.

I had always imagined going in there as a kid. And here I am. I mean, I was pretty stupid; the only reason people go in the Justice Building is to do something horrible (getting married, being assigned a house, filling out death certificates, saying goodbye to your loved ones, etc.). But I have to say, it is pretty darn awesome. The District 9 flag hangs from the ceiling, and on the wall hangs portraits of all our Mayors. The floor is a white marble, and is so clean that when I fell I could see my breath fogging up the floor, and when I cussed my voice echoed. I see Sissy shoot me a dirty look and then continue applying antiseptic. As I arrive in the Visiting Room and am amazed by what is reflected back at me. The room is the size of my classroom at school, and it is painted a light red. I quietly ran and took a seat on the soft velvet couch. A moment later the doors burst open, revealing my parents. Immediately I am enveloped into they're embrace.

"Mum. I. Can't. Breathe." I choke out.

They smile, and suddenly, were all laughing.

"You know what kid? I want you to go in they're and kick some serious butt. You show them that you're the-"

He takes a deep breath and swallows.

"You're the girl to be looking out for."

We spend the rest of the time like this.

"Sweetie, we wanted you to have this."

My mother reaches into her canvas bag and slowly removes a silver locket.

"It was mine when I was a little girl. And I want it back."

I smiled as she tied it around my neck. I knew that form all angles this was a bad day. But having accepted my imminent death, I made a promise.

That before I die, I'm gonna have the most fun possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi! The word of a day happens once every few chapters. The word is usually an adjective. This is sort of a filler chapter, and a lot will happpen in the next chapter. Enjoy!**

Twenty-five minutes. Vingt-cinq mins. 25 分鐘. Veinticinco minutos. خمسة وعشرون دقيقة. . That doesn't really seem like a long time. But when you are spending it with possibly the most BORING PERSON ON EARTH it's really long. So long that just to prove a point the authors gonna break the fourth wall and talk to the audience to say how long it took her to write 'twenty five minutes' in all those languages. Like, a minute. But it was a boring minute. I think I just made up a new simile! Twenty-five minutes alone with Miller is like writing 'twenty-five minutes' in every language on the planet (**AN: There's no Google in Panem, remember?). **Now to fix the wall. Putting up structure, packing with insulation, covering in dry wall, painting it a lovely shade of yellow, and, oh wait, almost forgot the protective coat! Wall is rebuilt.

**Fourth Wall**: The **fourth wall** is the imaginary "wall" at the front of the stage, which extended the idea to the imaginary boundary between any fictional work and its audience.

Back to the point. Seriously, there's boring people on earth, but come on! He just said and twiddled his thumbs. His eyes were puffy, and he had obviously been crying. He attempts to hide his face by letting his shaggy hair to fall his face. Another sob escapes him, and he looks up, and for a moment I get a glimpse of his eyes. They're a light green, unlike mine, which are a hideous blue. He attempts to hide his face by letting his shaggy hair fall over his eyes. Like, I understand you just talked to your family for the last time, and the countdown to your death has started and all, but you could at least attempt to start a conversation! I continued to fiddle with the stupid locket my parents gave me. Dang it! What the heck is wrong with this locket? Isn't a locket supposed to open? I look up to see Millard looking out the window, a sad smile on his face. I bet he having one of those moments when the person gives up hope and then decides to stay strong and fight to survive!

Moron. I bet he'll die in the bloodbath.


End file.
